Swimming lessons are a great "Rite of Passage". I found out the other day that my grandson has more of an institutional progression through swimming lessons, i.e. "Stage I" to "Stage II", etc. I remember starting out as a "Minnow", "Guppy", "Fish", etc. We only graduated to the next level when we could complete certain tasks in the water. My grandson is graduated based upon what he is taught,,,, not necessarily what he has learned.

Our "Rite of Passage" at our camp is based upon accomplishment. We even offer certification for completing our RITE. You can find out more by clicking on the link below.

My swimming lessons were traumatic, and my instructor was a cruel ass. And I forgot my underwear the one day I wore my swimsuit under my dress, yes, we HAD to wear dresses to school, and I cried all the way back to class on the bus. That's the day I learned the word "modest" and was scarred for life.

Swimming? I was raised in Hawai'i, so lessons were required; my mother says I turned out this way because she held me underwater too long while teaching me to swim. Hm. Looks like that's a rather traumatic ROP all around.

So kind of you to certify folks on the playa, Trishntek! Heh.

I agree, Ugly Dougly-- Friends I've talked to can pinpoint something that made them finally feel like they'd made the transition from childhood to adulthood, but it seems to be vastly different for everyone. I've gotten everything from a cross-country move, loss of virginity, having a child, and losing a parent-- all in the context of "growing up."

Just brainstorming here.A camp for people 18 years old - which is, like it or not, our year of adulthood -giving them a pseudo-tribal initiation, with dancing, bodypaint and so on.A coming of age bar for people 21 years old!!!

I wish I'd had a better "first time". She laughed a couple times at inappropriate times and made some rude remarks among other things. Bitch. (I should have given her a Cleveland Steamer but I didn't know about that back then...)

My swimming passage was wonderful. Mom and dad used the traditional method of supporting with arms and then free swimming with increasing distances between em when I said it was ok. I'll always cheris those memories

Last edited by Foxfur on Fri Jul 08, 2011 8:23 am, edited 4 times in total.

He's a mystery wrapped in a riddle, inside an enigma, painted in hot pants. - SavannahPropane ToysHow to do it wrong:

If I'd thought about it in time/realized swim lessons were such a rite, I might have tried to do something in that vein for this year. I was actively instructing up until 2 years ago, as a side gig (8 years total). Adult students, with or with traumatic experiences--or who were too poor for lessons as kids, or who came from countries where it was dangerous to swim--were actually my favorite students, because I understood the particular nature of adult anxiety and embarrassment a lot better than the younger and more cavalier of the instructors. What professional adult with a sphere of competency wants to sacrifice their lofty standing, get into the equivalent of their underwear and be bossed around by an 18-year-old? Well, okay, a few--but for the rest it was difficult, and I respected them just for showing up. They were motivated. And brave.

I don't know how to heal lessons-gone-wrong in the epitome of the anti-pool. Maybe there isn't time to figure that one out in 40-something days.

I suppose it can't hurt to think about it. Though if there's something I can do, I suppose I've gotta come up with it on my own.

Rites I could've used: cutting off contact with toxic family. Though that would be a most peculiar rite, because I eased into that rather than striking at the heart of the knot. I guess when I think about it, there was a rite: the 2008 Burn. I fell out of contact because of the Burn, and just kept extending the lease.

At some point, I discovered I can float wonderfully well, and that I like being in the water. I pretty much can't swim underwater, but I am bouyantly mobile. I just hate water on my face, to the point I cannot wash my face in the shower under running water; I have to finish bating then wash my face in the sink with a washcloth. A truly odd phobic~quirk.

My rites of passage lately have been dealing with the death of family, being the executor of my father's trust, and selling what passed for my childhood (teen years) home. Currently watching my widowed SILs lose their lifestyles and health to poverty. Deaths of siblings to cancer, a real mind warp. Survivor guilt, in spades.

Then I think of "my first orgasm with a sex toy" as a rite of passage and I grin a lot.

Ugly Dougly wrote:Just brainstorming here.A camp for people 18 years old - which is, like it or not, our year of adulthood -giving them a pseudo-tribal initiation, with dancing, bodypaint and so on.A coming of age bar for people 21 years old!!!

Like! That would be fantastic. (Have it run by dirty old men & women. Now there's a rite of passage...) I turned 21 right in the middle of basic training. The drill sergeants brought out a 12 pack of beer and drank em in front of me while they made me do 21 push ups for each one they drank. They pounded em so I was pretty much pushing continuosly. That was a "Wrong of Passage".

He's a mystery wrapped in a riddle, inside an enigma, painted in hot pants. - SavannahPropane ToysHow to do it wrong:

I went through Navy boot camp in Orlando in the 70s. I laughed (inside) through most of it. The showers were hilarious, 80 women rushing to wash their hair and hit the line. I'm quite certain it wasn't nearly as much fun for the men.

Fuck, once you had them figured out, the Sergeants were hilarious. I absolutely loved basic... really, no shit. Got healthy fast, and got some personal discipline in my life, which this wild thing needed - direction to aim what would have destroyed me otherwise. And the stuff they'd pull themselves - hell, I stuck it out so I could do the evil shit they did eventually. Tho I picked up right away - they actually gave a shit about us. May not have said it, but you could tell.

Plus it opened doors for me later. Forced me to get tough. it was a revelation... most wouldn't say this, but I owe them a lot. One in particular - little short shit, kinda like this Kiwi I know. Hard, tough, evil, mean, callous, cold, and strong. God, I loved that woman. (And for the life of me can't remember her name...)

Don't know how it was for the other side... I have heard stories of blanket parties and "slipping down stairs". A lot.

(I forgot about those showers. Damn. Most of us got our hair shortened and thinned first chance we had...)

We had a gal who was set back from another company because she was a fuck up. She would NOT shower. She got a midnight cleaning from the platoon leaders (there's some fancy name for section leader recruits these days). They used the big floor scrub brushes, although it was more threat than action. She screamed bloody blue murder, and we all stayed in our racks and grinned. She managed to lose her cover to her dress uniform for the final big inspection, she was sent packing off to medical. You aren't sick? You will be if you don't go.

burying my dad, by the time i got there he had been burnt, no family no ceremony just a cardboard box with his ashes in. because i fell out with my family before mum got to england i dont even have his ashes to say goodbye too. Having a family, because i hit my gf, by accident, we split up i never got to see my kids grow up it was only when they were adults i got to meet them.

I missed all my rites of passage because of a shitty family that just didnt care, they didnt abuse me they just didnt care or because i was ignorant and never saw what mattered till i saw someone else having a rite of passage and saw what i missed.

So for me This, going to burning man is MY rite of passage, showing to myself, that in spite of being an ignorant child and never really suffering and so never really caring i can do something that is difficult and because of me, who I am I can do something that matters to me, and people who care about me will help me do this thing, for reasons i dont understand AND not because they should but because they want to even if I am too stupid too understand now why

everyday i look at what i meant and what i wanted when i started this journey and how its turning out i am confused, its not what i expected nor will it be what i thought. However it will be something and whatever happens it will change my life because I DID IT and for me its a very personal rite of passage.

I am so glad you all can share it with me. every single one of you that have made it possible and so much more and so very different from what i thought it would be, no matter how lonely i am in the future i know now I will never be alone

FREE THE SHERPASBurners with torches is right and natural and just.-fishy.CATCH AND RELEASE.

yay for cat lady aunties! i already have a family here on eplaya, one that i havent met yet. one that is wise, supportive, honest and good full of other lost souls that have been adopted into the best family that chooses you because of your 'faults' and understands that baggage carried isnt one of them and will happily help you carry that baggage until you are ready to put it down. by happily i mean they will take the piss and mock you with out trying to hurt you.

FREE THE SHERPASBurners with torches is right and natural and just.-fishy.CATCH AND RELEASE.

I'm turning 50 in August so this years BM is my rite of passage. From what to what, I have no idea. I've been looking forward to this for 2 yrs now. My man and I are driving 5000 miles round trip for this trip and I seriously can't focus on anything else. My slight OCD is turning into full blown OCD. weeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!!!!

There are 2 dates on your tombstone and all you're friends will read 'em, but the only thing that matters is that little dash between 'em. - Kevin Welch

yurtgirl wrote:I'm turning 50 in August so this years BM is my rite of passage. From what to what, I have no idea. I've been looking forward to this for 2 yrs now. My man and I are driving 5000 miles round trip for this trip and I seriously can't focus on anything else. My slight OCD is turning into full blown OCD. weeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!!!!

yurtgirl wrote:I'm turning 50 in August so this years BM is my rite of passage. From what to what, I have no idea. I've been looking forward to this for 2 yrs now. My man and I are driving 5000 miles round trip for this trip and I seriously can't focus on anything else. My slight OCD is turning into full blown OCD. weeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!!!!

I see a tattoo in your future.

Yea Tattoos lets all crash Sting ray tattoos on the tuesday after the burn! that should be funny and we could get a bulk discount

just how many cats are we talkng aunty?

FREE THE SHERPASBurners with torches is right and natural and just.-fishy.CATCH AND RELEASE.

Foxfur wrote:All these military women are turning me the fuck on! Glad I married one. A sergeant.I stole her from a staff sergeant.I was a specialist. There's gotta be a rite of passage in there somewhere.

I was MyLarry's relief on Diego Garcia. We were both first class petty officers, not even supposed to be dating. Just over 200 women on an island full of 5,000 men, and I had to beat the other girls off him. Apparently no one dated anyone unless someone else was interested.

Please also to note special clause # 273.43/a(1-3) to wit:"For successful trapping and capture of rank above Field Colonel, General Major(Apokistapo/Apokispetznatz), or Commissar 6th rank, any personnel Apokiliptik shall to be eligible for awards as follows - Apokiliptik Medel of Condemnation, Order of Flaming Propeller, 2nd class, and Order of Fries Wit'dat, with Onion and Chili Clusters. Such may to be awarded immediatly preceeding execution of said personnel for actions traitorous to cause.

Your research is quite thorough. Awards may be hammered into chest with extreme force and be gratefully recieved. My blood is my honor. Spilling it, no problem. Pain is weakness leaving the body.When we were in the field, me and Sergeant Sweetpea shacked up in my weapons truck. Being an armorer allowed me to have the most secure vehicle in the field. Other troops called the transport "The Honeymoon Suite". When engaged in congress, as hot as she was I found my eyes and mind wandering to the 118 M16A1's (six with totally fuckable 40mm M203 grenade launchers), 12 M60's, 8 M2 .50BMG's, and 10 M1911A1's. Nothing like completion surrounded by parkerized steel voyeurs. Exhibition before belt fed, crew served, air cooled weapons is liberating.Screaming out "7.62x51! 5.56x45! 40mm HEDP!" never bothered her. Even more of a turn on! So madly in love that I built up the best goddamned fighting position possible for her. Love allows no less. Duty requires sacrifices gladly made. Such deeply abiding affection that I issued her half of the smoke grenades and 7 rocket propelled star shells and unlimited sub-caliber reloads for hew LAW. I wanted to give her everything an armorer could possibly give. Loving her unconditionally, no matter how filthy the inside of her reciever was or how clogged her BFA was from multiple bursts of passionate amounts of blank rounds. Massive amounts of ball powder expended from a rigid 1 in 7 heavy barrel.

Her locking lugs surrounded my bolt with hard-chromed rotary engagement preventing extraction until she decided it was time to punch my primer. (I just relaesed a little pre-CLP in my NBC suit) She holds the clacker that blows my heart sending love frag downrange. "Front Towards Lust Object". Multiple chained units fired simultaneously. I now stand before you wearing only a pistol belt and a smile. My magazine pouch throbs.

I think BBS and I are about even now. If she's not soaking in a tub of Hoppe's then she has assumed room temperature and will be forwarded to a depot level repair facility or simply DRMO'd. Demil / Dewat possibly indicated.(Take that, fucker!)

He's a mystery wrapped in a riddle, inside an enigma, painted in hot pants. - SavannahPropane ToysHow to do it wrong: